


Grow a Backbone

by Elfgrunge



Category: The Bastards Crew
Genre: Bastards' Origins, Canon-Typical Violence, Canon-typical swearing, For becoming less naive and also. Metal spine., Gen, The City, While writing this I realised Wren's entire character arc is just a pun
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-11
Updated: 2019-06-11
Packaged: 2020-04-24 16:43:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 732
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19177315
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elfgrunge/pseuds/Elfgrunge
Summary: Wren Wright was a promising young violinist, they were always told. Coming from a well off family in The City where they were nearly surface level, though, made them a bit naive. They say the sky breeds ignorance, if you’re not the one controlling the clouds, and Wren was no exception.Later, bleeding out in an ally after being kicked off a rooftop, they realised they were not as good a vigilante as they had previously thought.





	Grow a Backbone

Their knuckles were bloody in a way that matched their split lip, and their nose was likely about to follow suit, judging by the sickening _cracked_ it just emitted as the butt of the gun made contact.

Wren Wright’s first day as a vigilante was not going as well as they’d hoped.

‘Give it up kid, I don’t wana but I _will_ beat your ass to a pulp if you don’t back the fuck off and run home to mommy.’ The guard was a full foot taller than them, and a wall of muscle. Wren spat a tooth in his face, and brought their knee up to his crotch.

He let out a bellow as they sidestepped out of his range, but felt their heart drop as they realised their mistake, arms windmilling as their foot caught on the edging that surrounded the rooftop.

‘ _Fuck_ ,’ they stuttered, leaning forward to change their centre of gravity, and letting their pulse calm from the spike. Staring down at their knees, they didn’t notice the boot coming until it was planted firmly under their ribs, knocking all the air out in one swift blow.

They tried to grab for a handhold, but felt nothing as air passed between their fingers, until they were toppling over the ledge and down three stories.

The pipes and guttering that clung to the buildings edges snagged and caught against them as they fell, pain searing through each point of contact. They weren't conscious when they hit the ground with a thud, spine fractalling with a snap.

* * *

Waking up was cold, and dry. They could feel the goose flesh on their skin before they even opened their eyes, discomfort forcing itself to the front of their mind, followed by the persistent feeling of _wrongness._

They let out a low whimper, bringing their knees up to their chest and wrapping their arms around themselves. Their jacket was gone, which would account for the cold, only a thin white gown covering their torso. They could still feel the weight of the heavy steel-toe boots they'd found, and their once baggy trousers now clung to their thin frame with sweat, and what something in them hoped wasn't blood, and something else told them it definitely was.

It took a minute for them to be able to open their eyes, dirt and grime almost caking their lids shut. When they finally cracked one open, they were in an ally, alone, in the dark.

Their back was propped against a wall, the combination of stone and metal harsh against it. And they could have sworn they’d been seen this ally before.

The swath of dried blood now staining the ground metres away confirmed the suspicion that crept through their gut.

‘How-How did I-’ they choked out, more a test of their vocal chords than a question they really expected an answer to. The only reply was their own hacking cough.

Shakily, slowly, they stood up, and something was _off._ Their balance would be wonky, sure, anyone’s would after what it was now becoming clear they’d been through, but this was something altogether different.

A hand strayed slowly to their back, fingers splaying across the thin shirt, feeling at something cold and hard and undeniably metallic underneath.

They didn’t scream. They weren’t sure they had it in them at that point, for the act itself or even to be surprised by what they’d found.

The comm on their wrist beeped, and they looked down as it began to monotonously read the pre-recorded words that scrolled across the screen.

_‘Welcome back to the land of the living! Well. “Living.” Does it read out the air quotes on that? There’s air quotes._

_You did something stupid kid. Very stupid. Interesting, too. Keep it up. This should help make sure your stupidity doesn’t keep you out of commission next time._

_-Dr C’_

The time signature told them it has been recorded an hour earlier, and checking the current time sent a pang through their heart. Three days. It had been three days.

Wren steadied themselves against the wall, one fist clenched at their side. Back on the rooftop their hands had been bloody, skin tattered enough that it would definitely be leaving a scar. None of that now marked the healed and whole skin of their knuckles, entirely unblemished.

This…. Could be good. They could do something with this.

**Author's Note:**

> Me, chanting, writing out more terrible things for Wren: BREAK THE CUTIE! BREAK THE CUTIE! BREAK THE CUTIE!  
> Here's their origin where they quite literally get the naivety kicked out of them. Can't wait to make them just... *Clutches fist* Even sadder. And happier. A lot of happier because I'm incapable of not writing some nice things but also sad because these are the bastards and sometimes they do things that really earn them that name


End file.
